The Fifteen Strangers Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
strangerpeople) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
15strangers2020-01-27 10:38 am
strangerpeople) wrote in 15strangers2020-01-27 10:38 am
W͜͏̶Ę͏E͝͠K͝͞ ̧1̵͟
There was no sugarcoating it anymore. This was a critical time. Saving all of the vines is paramount, but what does one do when the blight hits? It keeps encroaching on the grapes, day by day. Entire clusters, entire bunches, dead and rotting, while allowing the blight to spread, and the leading botanists and viticulturists cannot identify the origin or the cause. They can't even successfully isolate the culprit in their labs; it seems to disappear like air no matter the precautions taken.
It is a catastrophe that seems to be beyond science, and it will result in the complete collapse of the entire country's wine industry. Already, embargoes on this year's crop have forced other grape-growers to close shop for the year after they'd sold their previous stock; it is all too possible that no grapes might ever be grown here again if a cure cannot be found. The tourists have stopped coming. The towns have grown silent.
You, meanwhile, are devastated. With the way your business is going, it will be on the brink of bankruptcy within the year. You will soon have no choice but to close shop and let every grapevine die, let the land go fallow. There must be a cure for this, there must be. Yet everything that can go wrong is.
Then, as you watch the news, it happens. Breaking news. The blight has been found in another country.
It is a pandemic-and it is only getting worse.
-
Well. This is...what else can can anyone say? You all know the deal. You all know what situation you're in. All that is left is to figure out what you can do about it. If there's anything that can be done.
You still feel that compulsion to distrust. To know you cannot win. To know that only the hosts have your best interests in mind. It would be easy to just do all that. But would it be the right thing to do? You can't be completely sure. Indeed, nothing is certain here, except for that damned ticking sound. If only you could stop it.
But you can't stop it. It is inevitable.
There are 15 strangers in this place.]
A Season Unending [cw: death, fire, blood, some sadism]
You watch, beneath your helm as the gleaming white-gold stone burns, and the fleeing survivors are cut down like dogs. You wade through the blood and bodies of your fallen enemies-civilian, soldier, it means little. All are inferior to your race, and all will fall before the end.
The end. You smile at the thought. The fell muse which seized you is strong, and you have done many things for it that before you would not have even entertained to think of, but you do not care. This is what must happen. This is how you and your people-the true people, the greatest people-will ascend into what they were always meant to be. Compared to that, what are your actions in this imperfect mortal reality?
You finally make your way to the center of the White-Gold, where your men are dragging out the relics you were seeking. With them were two unconscious bodies. One is female, and the other...impossible to identify. But at the same time, for you, impossible to forget.
The Emperor and their foul vampiric consort. You cannot help the smile on your face. You have waited years for this moment, ever since they humiliated you. But you will do more than humiliate them.
One of your men unsheathes their sword.]
Sapiarch Elenwen, shall we-
[You hold up a hand.]
No. I want them alive. Prepare these two and the Daedric artifacts for my journey to Skyrim.
[Your man immediately bows. Another soldier hands you the bow and arrows you also sought; you sling both onto your back. Even in its uncorrupted state, you know the weapon is useful against bandits, for the moment.]
Sapiarch, what of the Tower?
[You feel sadistic, petty glee flow through your veins as you respond, nodding to a subordinate with a cart filled with the dead. Yes, the Tower is inert and has been for centuries. Now, you will make sure it can never come back to life again.]
Take the dead of this disgusting city and fill them into every level of the reality spike. Cast a detonation spell on one of them. That will do it.
[So you watch as thousands of dead are brought into the White-Gold; it takes hours, but it is worth it to see the detonation spell cast, to watch as from bottom to top the Tower explodes, the dead within making the entire endeavor like a chain of dominoes falling. Ancient stone cracks and falls as the massive thing collapses on itself.
A Law has fallen, crumbled to ruin and ashes and pebbles strewn around broken walls. It will never rise again.
Reality is that much closer to ending...and soon the game you have devised from that fell muse's inspiration will begin.
but not for Arthur, who falls back, still feeling the heat in the air and the strange sparkle of madness from whoever's memory he had just experienced.]
no subject
Fire, everywhere, so much the air itself may as well be ablaze, he can taste the smoke thick on the air, smell the putrid stench human skin makes when it burns, and it's familiar. He knows this world. It's the first world he ever knew - not the one he's seeing now, but the world of fire and death. Hell on Earth.
Before he knows what he's doing, before he's come all the way back to the present, he stumbles outside. Air. He needs fresh air. He needs open space, and fresh air, clean of the wreckage of Gotham. So he sits on the ground right outside the door of House 2, breathing heavily.]
What the hell's a Skyrim?
no subject
[Hello, almost neighbor. You look way more upset than that question seems to explain.]
hello tag that got lost in my inbox
Uh....yo?
it happens to the best of us
Did a Skyrim do something bad-lun?
no subject
[Talking to someone is good, talking to someone puts him back in the present.]
no subject
[Understatement? Understatement. Look, she doesn't really know how to talk with someone about this sort of thing.
Also, she doesn't know everyone's powers.]
Did something remind you of it-lun?
no subject
no subject
[doubt.jpg]
no subject
no subject
[Not that Lala knows what a sapiarch is. Or a vampire, really.]